Any liquid,

poured into a vessel,

rushes to take that vessel’s form

but the word

entering the depths of the human soul

defines it

with its own form.

Night deforms darkness

with its motifs.

In every horse

there is a great horse.

Always,

everywhere –

any voice may exceed

the bounds of a terrible chorus.

By entering the world

we change the world.

It is a skin;

we are its skeleton.

My world,

flickering, coruscating,

like a cosmos,

assumes the shape of the WORD.

The smoke glitters.

The last book has been burnt.

Yet

eternal is the symbol above the ashes

of the letters,

over yurts,

over cooking stoves,

over SOUND that is warped

by the blueprint of ideas.